Right to the Edge: Sydney to Tokyo By Any Means (36 page)

Okinawa. The very name has a resonance - for many this is where the Second World War really ended. Since then, of course, Japan has risen from the ashes and, despite its recent economic problems, it is still the world’s second-largest economy.

We had seen a lot of Japanese influence throughout this trip, and most of it related to the war. We had learned all about the invasion of the Philippines from Alex, the museum curator in Tacloban, visited two memorials to General MacArthur and, before that, we’d been told about the attack on Horn Island. And now I was walking through the tunnels under the Japanese naval HQ in Tomigusuku.

Our Japanese translator Masato had now joined us, but my guide through the tunnels, a local historian called Kei Kodawa, spoke excellent English. He told me that the Battle of Okinawa was the most intense in Japanese memory; indeed, such was the ferocity of the US bombardment that they refer to it as the ‘typhoon of steel’. It began on 1 April 1945 and eighty-two days later the Japanese finally surrendered.

Okinawa is only 340 miles from mainland Japan and its capture was a major Allied objective. It was from here that the Allies planned to launch their final assault; it was to be a springboard from which to attack Tokyo. As it turned out, that final assault was not necessary. The Soviet Union formally declared war on Japan in August 1945 and then the atomic bombs were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

I had been in similar tunnels in Vietnam on the last trip, but these were noticeably more sophisticated. Okinawa is sixty-four miles long and about eighteen miles wide, and when the Japanese 9th Division was sent to the Philippines, the troops left to defend the island had to change their strategy. Ultimately that task fell to Colonel Hiromichi Yahara. He knew the fire power of the Allies - how many ships they had and how many men - so he worked out a plan that concentrated his forces in the southern part of the island. Strategically this area was vital, and Yahara believed it was more easily defendable.

The region was littered with caves and natural tunnels, and that gave Yahara an idea. As soon as the 9th Division moved out, he ordered the construction of an underground network of tunnels big enough to move the entire 32nd Army. It was a monumental undertaking and had to be completed in time to combat the attempted invasion. With no mechanised tunnelling equipment, labourers from the civilian population completed the job with nothing more than picks and shovels. The command cave for the 32nd Army lay 160 feet below Shuri Castle, and the naval command was here at Naha City. Shuri Castle had stood since the fourteenth century but was destroyed in the fighting. Today it’s a very grand, very red building that was rebuilt in 1958.

With thirteen hundred warships in Okinawan waters, the Allies landed their ground forces on 1 April 1945. By then the Japanese were underground, though, so initially the American marines met with little resistance. But that changed quickly and the subsequent fighting was as intense as any they had encountered. For two months battle was waged, with the marines finally securing the area around Shuri on 31 May.

While the ground forces that landed on Okinawa were American marines, a quarter of the planes used in the air bombardment were provided by the British Pacific Fleet, a combination of British, Canadian and ANZAC forces. Their primary mission was to provide air cover against Japanese kamikaze attacks.

The Allies attacked the naval base, which was commanded by Rear Admiral Minoru Ota, on 4 June 1945. Ota turned his 200 mm anti-ship rockets on to the lines of US marines to devastating effect. The battle was bloody and brutal, but on 11 June the Americans finally took the base. At that point Ota, along with 175 of his men, committed mass suicide by blowing themselves up in the tunnels. Kei showed me the farewell message the admiral had written on the wall. I could see his writing clearly and it was all the more poignant when juxtaposed with the deep scars in the rock created by blasts from the hand-grenades.

Kei introduced me to a survivor, a man called Yoshitaka Agarie, who was in the Japanese navy and had been in the tunnels. He wasn’t with Ota, but he talked about hiding in the tunnels when the formal surrender came. All they had to drink was what they could lick from the condensation that formed on the ceiling. He told me that the temperature underground had been more than 90 degrees Fahrenheit with 100 per cent humidity. He said that the Japanese army could be brutal, not just in their treatment of the enemy but to their own ranks. He described his personal experience in the navy quite differently, however, saying it was more like a family.

In vivid detail, Agarie explained how in the aftermath of the surrender the Japanese army officers not only took their own lives but tried to persuade the civilian population to do the same. People were told that if they allowed themselves to be captured and taken to prison camps, the men would be castrated and the women raped. Hiding out in the hills around the base, Agarie saw some people captured and he followed them to the prison camp. He had no plans to commit suicide; he was a man desperate to live. He spent a couple of days watching the camp to see if the propaganda was true. It wasn’t. Not only did he see no evidence of cruelty, he thought the Americans treated their captives with some respect.

Having seen the camps for himself, Agarie went into the mountains around Naha and tried to convince the people not to kill themselves, but to surrender to the Americans. He was sure they would be well treated. Most people followed his lead, so when the war was over the rebuilding process could begin.

To be here sixty-four years later was extremely moving. It was also a complete culture shock after the last few days in Taiwan, messing about on motorbikes.

Above ground once more, I thanked Kei for his tour then took a taxi back to Naha City. The cabbie’s name was Daisu, but he called himself Dice, and he took me on an impromptu guided tour. The Ryukyu Islands, of which Okinawa is the largest, have been inhabited in some form or another for centuries, and back in the 1800s they were referred to as Luchu, which is more of a Chinese name.

Dice showed me the downtown area of Naha City and the
shotengai
, or public market, at Makishi, famed for its meat and fish. We visited some local shops and he suggested I try a nice glass of snake’s blood wine. I obliged him, but couldn’t stomach more than a sip. I’d had enough of all that in Taiwan. Leaving the market area, Dice took me to a shop where they supplied traditional wedding clothes. As I’m already married I had no idea why I was there, but spotting Sam lurking I wondered if this was another of his attempts to get me dressed up as a woman. I needn’t have worried; there was no dress and no make-up this time. Instead they dressed me in the traditional robes of a Japanese gentleman. First came a white undergarment, similar to a karate jacket, then they wrapped my waist in a pink sash, before slipping on the kimono and hat. I considered my appearance in the mirror; I could have been Tom Cruise in a scene from
The Last Samurai.
Well, almost.

Outside the shop a couple of guys in weird-looking masks thrust some leaflets at us. They had seen the camera and were talking to Dice and gesticulating. I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but Dice explained they were wrestlers who were performing later, and they wanted to know if I fancied doing a bit of training with them. I was up for that. I was up for wrestling as well, but they told me that although their performance was sort of slapstick, they did throw each other around and I really could get hurt. They gave us directions to the gym, and once we were there I joined in with a few back flips and forward rolls. Later we looked in on the performance itself and they were right - it was slapstick. Two guys in costumes - one green, one yellow - reminded me of the Flowerpot Men. The moves were clearly choreographed, but the kids loved it and I have to admit it was very entertaining.

Japan was full of surprises - colourful masks and concoctions. Okinawa is steeped in the kind of history that leaves a lasting impression. I couldn’t get those tunnels out of my mind, trying to imagine Admiral Ota scrawling his farewell message on the wall before he and his men pulled the pins on their hand-grenades.

 

 

Early the following morning we took a ferry to Kyushu, the most southerly of the four large islands and home to thirteen million people. Kyushu is green, mountainous and very beautiful. It’s also a hotbed of tectonic activity. When you think about Japanese volcanoes you tend to think of Mount Fuji, straddling the shores of Lake Kawaguchi. But Fuji’s last eruption was in 1708. The most active volcano in Japan is Mount Aso on Kyushu.

We were due in Hiroshima on 6 August for the peace ceremony, so we took the next train north from Kagoshima to Beppu, where we were due to catch a fishing boat.

It had occurred to me a few times since we left Sydney that the scenery in each country we visited seemed quite similar. I suppose it was bound to - we were on islands in the tropics and they were lush, wet and mountainous, not to mention hot. In many ways Kyushu was no different, but from the windows of the train it seemed more spectacular than other places we’d seen. Mount Aso, for example, sits at the head of the most stunning valley, and the steam rising from the crater is so white against the blue sky it looks like low cloud.

Beppu is famous for its
onsen
, or hot springs. Aside from Yellowstone National Park in the US, it is home to the largest volume of naturally hot water anywhere. There are thousands of springs and many public hot baths throughout the city. Beppu is lodged between the mountains and the sea, and the architecture is very different from what we had seen in Taiwan. Here the buildings seemed sort of flatter - they were still tall, but not skyscrapers. And they were tiered, almost as if someone had taken each complete storey on a trowel and laid it on top of the one below so it overhung. It gave the city a really traditional, authentic feel. It was also teeming with people in its narrow streets, with the shops all squashed against each other. They say it’s quite a spiritual place, but with so many people coming here to bathe in the hot springs, it was also pretty touristy.

Of course, I wanted to try the springs too, as well as a hot mud bath. I had my pick of places - there was the Pond of Blood, a large pool where the steam is so thick and red you can’t see the surface of the water, or Sea Hell, a cleft in the palm trees that, from above, looked more like Mount Aso’s crater than a hot spring. It was a tough decision, but I settled on the former.

The mountain range that forms the backdrop to the city is the Takeshi Tsurumi, which is where Japan’s population of macaque monkeys lives. It was fairly obvious why the Japanese liked to come here - the relaxing hot springs, the wildlife in the mountains . . . not to mention the museum they’ve set up in honour of the town’s sex industry.

We didn’t make it there, which is a shame, because I’m told there is a very nice display of samurai warriors in various clinches with the local geisha. I did manage to get my clothes off, however . . . in the mud bath. There is nothing like it for soothing the muscles after three months on the road.

Three months - was that what it had been? No wonder I was itching to get to Tokyo.

Revitalised by the mud, I got my gear together and headed for the harbour, where I hoped the fishing boat to Shikoku would be waiting. Given the difficulty we had had with boats so far, you can understand my concern. But thankfully the boat was there - a one-man affair owned by a fisherman who promised we would not only catch fish as we made the crossing, but would eat whatever we caught. That sounded good, so with our bags loaded we left Kyushu and headed across the strait for the coast of Shikoku.

To the west now was the Seto Inland Sea. Like a smaller version of the Med, it’s almost entirely enclosed by the combined land mass of Kyushu, Shikoku and Honshu.

This was my kind of crossing. The water was calm, there were no monsoons or typhoons to contend with and the air was rich with the tang of salt. With a certain amount of anticipation, I set about trying to catch lunch. I’m no fisherman, but I had a feeling that things were finally going my way. I was sure the Boorman boat curse had finally been banished, and nothing was going to spoil this.

I landed a fish, but it was so ugly, so fat and boss-eyed, I couldn’t think of eating it. Neither could my host and fortunately he was able to catch a much better-looking one. I asked him how best to cook it. I was thinking garlic and herbs, a slice of lemon perhaps, and some bread and balsamic vinegar.

‘No,’ he said, ‘we will make sashimi.’

Contrary to popular belief, sushi doesn’t always contain raw fish. It’s based on vinegared rice and garnished with other bits and pieces, including raw and cooked fish. Sashimi is the sliced raw fish. The word literally means ‘pierced body’. Once upon a time restaurants would pin the fish tail and fin to the slices so the customer was able to identify what kind of fish they were eating.

We didn’t bother with that. We just sliced the fish as you’re supposed to, served it with soy sauce and a little wasabi paste, then ate it with the sun beating down and the sound of the inland sea lapping at the gunwales. Who knows, maybe I’ll make some kind of sailor yet . . .

After this very pleasant interlude we landed at the port of Ehime on Shikoku, where we headed straight for the station. The boat had been fantastic, so it was something of a letdown to clamber onto a fairly grotty local train, changing twice on our way to Kagawa.

 

 

Shikoku is the smallest of the big four islands. The southern half is extremely mountainous with almost no flat land at all. In fact, they breed a wolf-like dog called a shikoku (strangely enough) specifically for hunting in the mountains. One day I would love to come back and spend a few days camping, but sadly it was soon time to move on. From Kagawa station we hitched a lift on a truck that took us to Honshu via the Kobe-Awaji-Naruto Expressway, and I have to say I saw nothing of it, not the road or the bridge or the seaway below, because by the time we got into Kobe it was four o’clock in the morning.